


Saving Sophia

by Scarlet (Kage_no_Akuma_Shadow_Demon)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Other, Platonic Relationships, Racial slurs, Slight Universal Altercations, romantic relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-17 05:13:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2297810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kage_no_Akuma_Shadow_Demon/pseuds/Scarlet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Daryl doesn’t join the group until he finds Sophia wandering the woods alone and tracks the group to their location. Bringing Sophia to them goes a long way towards getting their trust. Shane wants to let Lori go back to Rick…it’d certainly be a lot easier if he could convince the new guy to join their group and drop his pants. How do you convince a skittish, withdrawn, abused, redneck to do either especially when he doesn’t like to be touched? Hopefully Shane can figure it out.<br/>Bonus: If Rick and T-Dog were really involved in trying to befriend Daryl to get him to stay with the group that’d be cool too.<br/>If you wanted to change the motivation (i.e. Shane wanting to let Lori alone)alternate pairings that would work too... Daryl/Rick, Daryl/Rick/Shane, Daryl/T-Dog, Daryl/Tyreese<br/>I don’t particularly care if it’s AUish. Like there holed up in a place they were never in on the show or if the timeline is kinda twisted or whatnot. Maybe Sophia lived to see the prison. Whatever you need to make it</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stumbling across Sophia

**Author's Note:**

> So, it was suggested to me that I place my story in Archive of our own, it would certainly do well to not clutter up the forums. I'm also so sorry for taking so long and sorry about the tags, but you know, they're needed so that people know what they're in for. Just so those of you know, I will put warnings in case there's anything graphic, such as the mentioned non-con bit.

He's been holed up in a house he found in the woods for maybe three or four days so far, it's not a bad place to be honest. He's got his truck hidden not so far away with some of his stuff, well, Merle's stuff. So when he returns after a bit of hunting, no deer, not like he can eat a whole deer by himself and with stuff how it is it'd be a bitch to find a way to keep that shit fresh. He's just got a few squirrels and a rabbit or two. He pauses, the door's closed but there's a sign that someone went into the house, the shoe prints are a bit wobbled like the person who made them was staggering. Crossbow at the ready he throws open the door, looking around, a little leaned back in case it were a zombie or some shit but there's none of that. Except a scuffle from inside. Daryl's eyes narrow a bit and he walks - slowly, quietly - inside. He keeps his back to the walls, muscles a little tense as he aims. After a while he ends up in the kitchen, there's a tin of sardines, eaten, on the counter that hadn't been there before. He grabs it, for what reason he doesn't know, he ends up throwing it away anyways. That's when he hears a small shift, inside the pantry. He moves toward it carefully, crossbow aimed in one hand as he grabs the handle with the other. Throwing it open, he falters.

A thin girl with short blonde hair looks up to him, scared as can be. She's curled up as tight as she could be, meekly looking at him through her hair. She's got a little dolly in her arms, held tight against her chest. He lowers his crossbow slowly, not really believing what he's seeing. She raises her head a little bit more, eyes flickering up to meet his before abruptly falling to the floor once more.  
-  
She's stuffing her face with the meat, careful not to accidentally eat the bones. She's glancing at him from time to time, as though he were going to bite or snatch away the food. He's given her most of the meat, just eating one of the squirrels. He would eat it raw, as long as he didn't puncture any organs it was safe, and he was good enough at skinning animals that it didn't get tainted. However, he didn't believe she was used to raw meat so he made a fire and roasted it, wouldn't do good to get her sick.

He doesn't even know why he cares.

"So, you alone?" He knows he sounds pretty gruff, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

She curls into herself, looking at him warily and with some fear.

Maybe that was it, the way she carried herself, too meek for a child her age. He's seen kids, kids who were more out going, naïve. She's seen more than she ought too, then again, this was the zombie fucking apocalypse.

"N-no, I had a group, my mom." She's tentative, pulling some meat from the animal and nibbling at it. Daryl doesn't mind, he's pretty patient, unlike Merle. "We were on the highway, one of the cars had a problem so we had to stop. T-then the geeks came."

Daryl raises a brow. "The what came?"

The girl huddles a bit, actually looking equal amounts of embarrassed and afraid. She stumbles over her words for a moment, which is a vague annoyance for the Dixon. It takes a while for her to finally say; "The...walkers?"

"Oh, the zombies." Daryl says, blunt and unapologetic when she flinched. She only nods.

"So what happened? Group get hurt?" Daryl asks, throwing the squirrel bones into the fire and drawing his crossbow to keep an eye out.

The girls lips thin and she shakes her head. "We hid under cars until they passed by, I thought they were gone and tried to crawl out, but two of them saw me." Her voice gets quieter and quieter with every word. "They chased me into the woods, our leader saw and ran after us, he was able to find me but he had to leave me to take care of the geeks. He told me to try to get back if he took long, but I forgot which shoulder I was supposed to keep towards the sun." She bites her lip, shrugging her shoulders helplessly.

"And you've been out here since, when'd you get lost?" Daryl asks, listening for any sounds that may be walker related.

"T-three days ago?" She pipes up, hesitating before throwing her own picked clean bones into the fire.

Daryl can't help but begrudgingly admit that it's a miracle that the kid even survived one day, sure, at some point when he was around her age, maybe even younger, he had been lost in the woods - had to use motherfucking poison ivy to wipe his ass and it hurt like a bitch - for about nine days and when he finally found his way home the first thing he did was make a sandwich. However, this was the motherfucking zombie apocalypse, the kid could have been eaten.

Also, it explained why she scarfed down the food like it was her first meal in forever. Sure, Daryl knew about which plants were edible and shit but he still vomited up that sandwich he had scarfed down when he returned home. Perhaps the only kindness was that his dad was out on a bender with some waitress and therefore couldn't call him a little bitch for not keeping food down. He might have gotten another scar for 'wasting' it. Never mind that Merle was the only one to fill their fridge with actual food items, not much, sometimes junk, other times fruit or vegetables they preferred. And he always got bread, peanut butter - smooth - and grape jam, Daryl's favorite for sandwiches. Any other time it was condiments and booze.

"That's some good luck, kid. Do you know where your group would be?" Daryl asks, because sure as hell he ain't going to keep a kid, one he doesn't know how to even take care of kids and two it wouldn't be right to keep the kid from her mom and familiar people.

She's biting at her lip again, looking unsure before finally mumbling. "They were on a highway, I'm not sure if they're still looking for me." Daryl sighs, the highway was a few miles west if he has his direction correct - and he's rarely ever wrong. 

"Well, my truck isn't that far." He says, gaining her attention as she clutches her doll. "How about I help you find your people?"

He has to admit, he's surprised when she launches herself at him, skinny arms tight around his neck as she's thanking him in a rush.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, sir!"

"Name's Daryl." He finds himself saying, his whole body tense at the sudden touch. She pulls back, eyes wet with tears.

"Thank you, Mr. Daryl, my name's Sophia." She says with a trembling smile, wiping at her face with her wrist.

Daryl can't help but wonder what he got himself into.


	2. We?

After putting out the fire and collecting his stuff - not much to be honest, some of his stuff he kept in the truck, he's got a few changes of clothes, his gun - which he rarely ever uses - and a few things for hygiene, not that he ever really used it. He's never been one for bathing. When he was a kid there was no running water in their old home up in the mountains and so Merle took him to a creek out in the surrounding woods and would give him a rub down with a bar of soap, scrubbing at his hair before letting Daryl go freeze his ass off to get the suds out. Merle would strip too, washing his own self before going to wash off the soap, at that point Daryl would be able to see the scars that took up most of Merle's back, more scars than skin even back then. However, Merle only did that about once a week when Daryl was younger and that never even really changed. It wouldn't matter now that the world ended anyways. They start walking toward where Daryl kept his 1973 Ford. Sophia seems to think that with Daryl helping her and all that he mustn’t be a bad guy because she immediately grabs his hand in her own, looking up at him when he looks back down at her with a expression of bewilderedness. It's some time before the woods thin out and the truck comes into view, Daryl has her wait, going over to check to ensure that his truck was safe, but there doesn't seem to have been any disturbances. He doesn't even see the slightest track and nothings been taken. So, he gestures for Sophia to come over as he unlocks the truck, helping her into the passenger seat. He closes the door once she's safely buckled up and her arms and legs aren't in the way then he's packing his stuff in the back. He can't help looking at the black 1976 Triumph Bonneville and sighs heavy and deep. It was the motorcycle Merle ended up fixing up, it originally belonged to their old man but was left to pretty much rust. He remembers sitting not so far away and watching Merle get his hands dirty with fixing the damned thing when their dad was gone. Wrench in hand, pointing it at Daryl and saying a drawled; "You just watch Darylina, I'll get this old thing up and running. And when I do, we're going away, far away to where that asshole can't touch us."  
Daryl had smiled, arms holding bent knee's, nodding and saying; "I know Merle."

Merle had smiled back in a way that could be taken as relieved at Daryl's almost naïve belief that he could actually save him. He couldn't even save himself but it had to be admitted that the thought of it was a nice one. Of course, in the end that never happened but at the time the thought of it had been enough.

"Mr. Daryl, are you okay?" Sophia is gripping the opened window, head poked out to look at him worriedly. Daryl places his pack in the bed of the truck besides the motorcycle.

"Yeah, kid, I'm fine." Daryl answers, walking around to get into the drivers seat. Sophia's got her hands in her lap, biting her lip as she plays with her dolly nervously. Daryl's got his key in the car ignition, shifting the shift stick from park to drive and gets them out of there. It's not long before they're on the highway, Daryl keeping an eye out for any cars that might still be in use. 

"Any of this familiar to you, kid?" Daryl asks, going slow through the highway, cars flipped or in the way, possibly to keep zombies from sneaking up on them but it's obvious that didn't work so great. Sophia's looking out and around, taking everything in.

"That looks a little familiar." She says, pointing out one of the flipped cars. "We passed that and after a little one of the cars broke down." She explains and Daryl nods, continuing on and keeping an eye out. They're like that for a minute or two before Daryl see's something and stops.

"What is it?" Sophia asks as Daryl stops the car, though it's not really needed when she see's exactly what has gathered the archer's attention. There was a car with different supplies on the hood, though, it was what was on the windshield that had Sophia getting out of the truck, Daryl getting out as well with his crossbow to ensure the kid was safe.

Across the cars windshield were the words;  
 _Sophia stay here, we will come every day._

"They're still looking for me?" Sophia whispered, looking honestly surprised.

"Why wouldn't they?" Daryl said, crossbow raised as he looked around.

"I would have thought that...that they were sure I was dead." She murmurs, playing with the stringy yarn that made up her dolls hair. 

"Well obviously not." Daryl responded. "And seeing that they aren't here maybe they'll come later or tomorrow. Though, I don't think it's exactly safe..." His eyes narrowed, looking at the paint used to write the words upon the windshield. It looks about a day or two old and there aren't any fresh tire tracks. He breathes in deep, hands on his hips. "Do you want to stay here or see if we can find them, no doubt they'd be staying nearby." He says, looking down to Sophia who's still looking over the supplies to the words on the windshield.

"You'll let me choose?" She says, words faint, looking up at him with surprise.

"Yeah, this is your group we're talking about. If I weren't in my group I'd want a choice on whether or not I could look for 'em." Daryl answers.

"...Do you have a group Mr. Daryl?" Sophia asks, reaching towards his hand and gripping it tightly, looking up at him.

It's quiet for a while and Sophia is about to say; 'Never mind', when she feel's Daryl give a light squeeze, looking away.

"I never had a group but I had a brother." Daryl's voice is rough, he lets go of her hand, inhaling deep. Sophia doesn't question him, looking at the supplies.

"Are you thirsty?" She asks, waving a bottle when he turns his head to look at her. She handed it over, opening her own bottle and taking a few sips, forcing herself not to guzzle it down. Daryl seems almost relieved that she didn't ask any more questions.

"So, you want to move on or stay?" Daryl asks hesitantly after some time.

Sophia seems at a lost for words for a few moments before looking up at Daryl nervously, though there's a small gleam of excitement in her eyes.

"Let's move on, we can surprise them." She says, smiling, sweet and innocent.

Daryl's still caught on the fact she said; 'We'.


	3. Cherokee Rose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the racial slur used when mentioning T-Dog! That'll change.

"We?" Daryl asks, surprised when Sophia nodded, grabbing a few of the things on the hood and looking them over.

"Uh-huh, you don't have a group and it's dangerous to be alone." Sophia says, tucking her doll under her arm and grabbing some of the items. "We need to take this as well, it's a lot of stuff." She mentions and Daryl finds himself nodding along. He's got an almost empty box in the bed of the truck so they pack up the food there. Before they go, Daryl looks around for anything that can be of use, though, there seems to be nothing. The cars had been bled dry and anything that might have been useful seemed to have been taken already.

Again, Daryl helps Sophia into the truck, though, something catches his attention from the corner of his eye and he walks over to it. A Cherokee rose, he cuts it free and returns to Sophia who's looking at him curiously. He hands it over and she looks confused, head tilting.

"It's a Cherokee rose." Daryl says once he's in the drivers seat, turning on the ignition and continuing on once more. Luckily there aren't so many cars in their way anymore. 

"What does it mean?" Sophia asks quietly, holding it carefully. 

"Well, it's a story my brother told me, he said it meant hope and that the roses bloomed from the tears of the Cherokee mothers who lost their children to disease and starvation along the Trail of Tears when the white man drove them off their land. I believe that one bloomed for you Sophia." Daryl's got his eyes on the road, not daring to look at Sophia as she looked down at the flower.

"When we find my group, I'm going to give this to my mom and tell her the story." Sophia whispers, smiling lightly.

There's not much when going down the highway, a few more cars and tree's but after some time there's simply a clearing and that's when the farm house comes into view. Daryl is hesitant to stop, from his knowledge people were unpredictable and who knows if they're friendly or not. He must have been tense because Sophia reaches out and places a gentle hand on his arm, smiling sweetly when he looks at her.

"We should ask if they know my group." She says quietly, it's strange that she seems so calm around him, so trusting. Maybe it's because he hasn't done anything yet to scare her away.

He feels himself relax, just a little, and - chewing at the corner of his lips - he stops the car. From a distance is a mailbox with faded paint saying; Greene. When he looks at the farm he can see tents set up at a distance, an RV with two people seated upon it. He grips his steering wheel for a moment, trying to calm his nerves at the sight of more people coming from both the house and tents. He decides to leave his crossbow, he didn't want to be mistaken for a threat and shot before he can say anything.

"Stay in here Sophia, just in case." The Dixon states, he didn't want her getting hurt in the case the people were more for shooting first and asking questions later. 

At least Sophia nods her agreement, so that's something for him at least to be relieved about as he gets out of the truck, going over to the fence and watching as two men stroll over. He raises his hands, despite feeling stupid for doing so, it was from experience that he does it. He's not stupid enough to keep his hands at his sides, seeing as most people take that as hiding a weapon.

Three people approach, one of them is wearing a tan officer suit, another one is wearing over-sized clothing and the last is a nigger. He knows Merle would have something snappy and unkind to say but he doesn't have anything against people of minority like his brother had. The nigger has a pitchfork and the two other's have weapon's, pointed right at him. Then again, when was the last time he's hadn’t had a gun in his face, like Merle mentioned, you should be scared if you didn't have a gun in your face these days.

"What are you doing here?" It's the guy in the officer uniform who says that, the man with the shaved head has that gun pointed at him with accuracy.

"Mean no harm, just wondering if you've seen a group go by or not." Daryl says, voice rougher than it had been with Sophia. He supposes he was okay with kids, they were innocent, adults, not so much.

"Why? They yours?" It's the man in the over-sized clothes that says that, eyeing him up and down.

"No," Daryl finds himself hesitating before licking his lips. "found a little girl back a ways in the woods, the group is hers."

That seems to get their attention, they're looking to one another hesitant excitement and shock in their eyes.

"What's her name?" It's the nigger who asks now, he's lowering his pitchfork and the other two are beginning to lower their guns.

"Sophia," Daryl says, slowly lowering his hands and the nigger runs off yelling; "Sophia! Sophia's found!"

He can see a thin woman with very short hair running out towards them, the other's following. 

"Where is she." The officer asks, and Daryl, stunned, backs up. 

"She's in my truck, I'll go get her." He says, turning his back and going back to the truck. Sophia's right where he left her and she's looking at him excitedly.

"That's the leader, Rick Grimes." She says, sounding ecstatic as he helps her out. Daryl simply nods, following a few steps behind her. 

The gate was opened and the woman was there, hand's to her face and eyes on Sophia.

"Sophia." The woman gasps out, voice filled with tears and Sophia runs to her, hugging her tight and crying out; "Mama!"

Daryl stays where he is, sorta holding his arm awkwardly as he observes. He starts to take a step back, well, there was his good deed. Getting a daughter back to her mother. He's about to turn his back when a hand clamps down on his shoulder, he finds himself jerking back violently, head whipping to look at who touched him. It was the officer and he holds up his hand, looking slightly apologetic.

"Sorry about that but, eh, do you have to go?" He says and Daryl stares at him barely comprehending.

"What?" He finds himself saying.

"Do you have a group? People?" Rick, his mind supplies, says, some of the group members are watching especially the guy who was wearing over sized clothing.

"No, was just me. No worries." Daryl says, sounding hesitant and withdrawn.

"Well, in that case, why don't you stay?" Rick responds, with a gleam of hopefulness in his eyes.

Daryl's at a loss for words, perhaps his surprise was written across his face. "Why?" He says finally.

"You found Sophia." Rick says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"You don't know me." Daryl says, knowing he's just making excuses, this is going too fast and he's starting to feel overwhelmed. Merle knew how to handle this kind of stuff better than him.

"We can get to know you." Rick says and he's looking so hopeful.

Daryl’s at a loss for words, he’s frozen, just looking at Rick’s face and then he’s looking over the guys shoulder at Sophia who’s smiling sweetly and nodding as though saying; _“We have a place for you, Mr. Daryl. Say yes.”_

“Alright.” Daryl says, voice quiet.

Rick gives his shoulder another warm clap. “Welcome to the group Daryl.”

Daryl can do nothing more than give a jerky nod.


	4. Interesting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for not updating in so long! I wanted to add Shane's little view and such at the end, hopefully this 3000+ chapter will make up for that. And thank you so much for the comments!  
> Also, warning; The use of homosexual slurs and a hint of sexual abuse, that however is probably hard to notice. Oh, also a few racial slurs.

With the group celebrating the return of one of their youngest members Daryl could honestly say he didn’t really notice the way the older man, Hershel, frowned in the doorway of his home. Being swept up in the group, invited to join them, and being offered help by a chink named Glenn when he started to pull out his tent from the bed of the truck was a little too much when it came to socialization. So, awkwardly, Daryl had murmured that he got it. Though, he pulled out the box of supplies he and Sophia had gotten from the hood of the car that the group had marked up and, after removing his own personal belongings, he held it out to the other. Glenn seemed slightly surprised but gave a smile, taking the box.  
Daryl couldn’t help his slight pause, watching Glenn go but he shook his head, turning back towards the truck to get his tent.   
Merle would have slapped his shoulder, giving a low whistle and said; “See something you like, Darylina?” before giving a long loud obnoxious laugh.  
Merle wasn’t always an asshole, or at least, Merle was never an asshole to him and Daryl respected Merle and of course, hearing the slurs used to describe what he was; Fag, queer, sissy, fruit loop, pansy, made him hesitant to go to his brother and tell him his preferences and then his dad, his dad would kill him.  
However, at the age of fourteen he couldn’t help it anymore, it was tearing at him. So, tense as all hell, he went to his brother and told him; “Merle, I’m a fag.”  
Of course, he only told him when they were alone, his dad out at a bar, but all the same Merle slowly turned away from the television, with that hideous pink plastic boob bucket full of bullet holes on top, to look at Daryl, all quiet.  
Daryl had shifted away, looking down so as not to meet his eyes. Then Merle reaches out, grabs him by the shoulder, pulls him in close - his hand cupping the back of Daryl’s neck. “Yer still a man, Darylina, so fucking act like one and call yerself a goddamn homosexual. None of this fag shit, ye hear me?” He was eye to eye with Daryl and Daryl had no other choice then to look his brother in the eyes, even if he was both surprised and relieved.  
“Yes, Merle.” Daryl says, but it seems that Merle wasn’t done.  
“And whatever you do, do not tell pa, you hear me? Not a peep.” Daryl simply nodded, yeah right like he’d ever tell their dad, but from the way Merle says it Daryl has a feeling, a sudden wave of sickness in the lower part of his belly and there’s a strange barely there memory from when he was much younger.  
Something to do with the sound of bed springs.  
“That’s why isn’t it, Merle.” Daryl mutters to himself, breaking himself out of his memory, a chill running up his spine.  
Of course, no one answered so Daryl got his things together and decided to see where he could set up camp. Just because he joined didn’t mean he had lost his awkwardness with human contact so he set up camp a few feet away from the cluster of tents, giving a small nod to Sophia’s mother, whom was holding her tight in her arms. The Cherokee rose was tucked into Sophia’s hair.  
It’s a short amount of time before Daryl’s set up and to be truthful, the rest of the day runs relatively smoothly, other than the fact that the man - Shane, he believes - doesn’t stop staring at him. It’s awkward and Daryl can’t help the urge to keep his eyes on the ground and remain silent, however it seems that the group is the type that likes talking.  
“So, you were on your own?” It’s a blonde woman who asks, Andrea he thinks?  
“Yeah, was.” He says, voice kind of low.  
“Since the beginning?” It’s Glenn who says that, he’s handing a plate of food off - dinners done then.  
“Nah, had a brother and we had a group once.” He doesn’t mention that Merle had them rob the camp blind, taking food, weapons, and ammo before hitting the road. The group in question had been a small group of five other men, but they seemed to be the kind that kept guns and ammunition as their top priority so while the food might have been lacking a little the weapons hadn’t. “We ended up separating from the group because things were tense.” Daryl half lies, though it was somewhat true, it seemed that those guys had something against Daryl’s preferences, though those skittish guys simply jumped off the handle. Really, you look at a guy for ten seconds and the fucker is scared that he’ll be anally probed.   
Merle never did let him off the hook for that.  
“Where…ah…is your brother?” It’s Glenn who asks that, handing Daryl a plate of food, and Daryl has to give the guy props, he’s got balls.  
“He’s dead, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” Daryl says, finding no need to sugar coat it. Yeah, Merle was dead, not even reanimated just…gone. Sometimes Daryl doesn’t like to acknowledge it but there’s no use in playing stupid. Besides, if Merle was there he’d smack Daryl upside the head with a; “Wake up little brother and accept the facts.”  
That seems to shut up the group, though Sophia’s mother opens her mouth as though she were going to say something, however, there’s some hesitation. It’s Sophia who speaks up, she’s still got the rose in her hair.  
“My mom wants to say thank you, both for the rose and bringing me back, Mr. Daryl.” As she says that, she moves to sit besides him, smile sweet on her mouth.  
Daryl’s eyes awkwardly flicker from Sophia to her mother and back again. “It was nothin’, just the right thing to do.” He says, voice kind of low and rough as he hunches more into himself.  
It was weird, getting words of gratitude, perhaps that’s why his eyes lock on T-Dog’s arm, he found out the name of the guy.   
He can’t help grunting out; “What happened to you?” if only to save his own skin from anymore personal questions and gratitude.  
T-Dog seems slightly surprised, but his gaze falls to his arm, which is bandaged up and stitched. “Cut myself on a sharp piece of metal when trying to hide from Walkers, almost would have gotten eaten if not for Shane killing one that was about to grab at me. He put corpse’s on the both of us seeing as there was hardly any time to hide under the cars before the horde passed through.” Daryl could feel Shane’s gaze heavy on the side of his face, it makes him feel stiff.  
“That’s real bad, I take it you’re able to keep back infection.” Because sure as hell, getting a cut like that ain’t going to be clean at all.  
“Barely, the meds are weak but they help.” T-Dog answers honestly, he’s thankful to Hershel, said so maybe ten times, but sometimes his arm takes to feeling numb as it heals slowly, at least the blood infection wasn‘t so bad that he’ll keeled over at any instant.  
Daryl’s face goes blank for a moment, like he’s thinking over something of importance before he pushes himself to a rise, leaving his plate there. They think of calling out to him but he just goes to his truck, after he joined they got him to park it with their own, making a sort of half circle around their little camp. Opening the passenger seat, he gets in the truck, rummaging through his things. He comes back with a bottle in hand, no label on it.  
“Antibiotics, was my brothers, they’re first class, none of that generic stuff.” He holds it out to T-Dog, who seems hesitant to take it. “I got rid of my brother’s illegal drugs, this is…” He sighs. “This is what he used when he’d get the clap.”  
Some of the group can’t seem to be able to hold back a snicker at the mention, making light of the situation and T-Dog finally grabs the bottle.  
“Thanks.” He says, Daryl nods in response.  
The rest of dinner, Daryl mostly stays quiet, but when he looks, Shane’s watching him and Daryl can’t help wondering if the other guy is just wary of him. Well, he wouldn’t blame him.  
That night, belly full of something that was as close to homemade as he’s ever gotten, Daryl stares up at the ceiling of his tent, thinks that maybe things will be alright. At least, he hopes. So, crossbow an inch away from his fingers he goes into a light sleep.   
To be honest, when Daryl joined the group he didn’t expect to learn that the older man, Hershel, wanted them off the land. Rick, on the other hand, was trying to convince Hershel to let them stay with what time he had seeing as Carl, Rick’s son, wasn’t healed enough to be moving, hell the kid wasn‘t even moving yet. Turns out the kid was shot with a bullet that had passed through a buck. Though Daryl could see why Rick was trying to convince Hershel to let them remain, the place had cattle and farmland, there were fences all around it. Walkers won’t be able to get in all that easily if there were patrols around the place. Then, from what he knew, there was game.  
Then again, this was Hershel’s home and if there’s something his pa and Merle taught him it was that you respect a man’s decision when it’s his home in question.  
Though, those things took a back seat as the group, Sophia’s group, took to looking to him, as though he had something of importance to add or he had some unknown wisdom that they needed.  
It was foreign to become so important to a group of strangers that didn’t even know him. It’s almost…intimidating, especially with the fact that more often than not T-Dog and Rick would be around him, talking to him and gathering his opinion on certain things and Sophia’s mother - whom he finds out is called Carol - seems to think she owes him. Seeing as she came to him mentioning that she was doing laundry and if he wanted she could do his as well.   
Daryl was thankful for the offer, however, he was never one for letting other people touch his belongings. So he simply said a gruff; “I got it, but thanks.”  
Carol seemed hesitant before nodding and briskly walking away, a part of Daryl worries that he embarrassed her. However, that is forgotten when Sophia approached and sat besides him, legs to her chest and skinny arms curled around them. She’s clean, hair looking brushed, has on fresh clothes. No more dirt streaked skin, it makes Daryl’s own flesh itch and he feels like he needs to at least make himself presentable.  
“I saw Carl.” Sophia says, voice quiet, she plucks at a few blades of grass.   
“Yeah?” Daryl says, looking down at her. “How is he?”  
“Okay, he’s jealous.” She looks up at him, head tilted, smile light. “Because he wanted to be the one to find me.” She giggles a little, giving one blade of grass a bit of a twist between her fingers before blowing it away. “He might be able to move fine in a couple of days, but he just had his surgery yesterday or maybe the day before?” She shrugs lightly. “I’m glad he’s okay.” She finishes.  
Daryl can’t seem to find anything that would be helpful to say, so instead he just nods.  
They sit like that for maybe ten minutes, just comfortable, however, T-Dog walks over and it’s really just him.  
“Hey, Daryl, I was wondering if you can help us with something, there’s, ah, a walker in the well.” Daryl reaches for his crossbow, however, he pauses when T-Dog shakes his head. “We want to try to keep the well fresh, we don’t need walker blood tainting it more than it already is.”  
It’s smart, but how the hell are they going to get a walker out of a well safely without killing it.  
As it turns out, Glenn was the answer and after a bit of a fright Glenn had the walker tied. Now it was only a matter of using muscle power to pull the walker out, however, when doing that he can see that the waterlogged thing was going to burst.  
“Wait, stop pulling.” Daryl says and surprisingly they do. They don’t loosen their grip but they do pause in their tug of war. He hesitates. “Just…try to keep a grip on the rope, I’m letting go.” They steel themselves, sort of press their shoes into the ground and Daryl slowly releases his grip, palms flushed red from the burn of the rope. He walks over to the waterlogged walker, easily out of the reach of it’s fat arms, he can see a bit of blood - black with rot - beginning to slide through a cut around it’s hip. He reaches down, tries to get a good grip of spongy legs clad in soaked jeans. More blood starts to slip as he tries to hold it’s weight. “Alright, pull!” And they do, nearly making him loose his footing and fall into the well. At least, the walker is safely out with no fear that it’ll tare in half, though because of the pull a sudden serge of black blood erupts onto the floor and Daryl lets go, luckily with no blood on him. T-Dog walks forward and strikes a blow to it’s head, putting a stop to the growls. Maggie, Hershel’s daughter, looses the contents inside her stomach, vomiting on the floor at some distance away. She has a look as though they killed a person.   
Daryl jumps away when he feels T-Dog’s hand clap on his shoulder, no doubt wanting to thank him for his observance and quick thinking, however doing so sends him into the well. There are screams, calls of his name. Daryl gasps, heaves, coughs, water up his nose and in his mouth, he stands and the water is at his chest, luckily the well was deep enough that he’s only a little sore from the fall but nothing’s broken.  
“Daryl! Are you okay?!” T-Dog calls down, looking guilty and worried both.  
“Y-yeah! Sorry about that!” It’s stuttered and Daryl’s sure his face is red, can feel his cheeks burn.  
“Nah man, I’m sorry. We’re getting the rope to you right now.” T-Dog replies and just as he said, the rope dangles in front of him. He grabs onto it, hooks his foot in the noose and hangs on as they pull him up. However, it’s not T-Dog who’s waiting for him, it’s Shane. Shane who’s staring right at him, makes him feel like a drowned rat. Shane’s got his hand out for him to take and Daryl’s tempted to just pull himself out but he takes Shane’s hand, allows the other to help him out. He’s strong, Daryl will give him that, can feel it. When he’s on his feet, his shoes make a wet squelch, water sliding off his skin and pooling around his feet. They’re staring at him, as though he were going to make a fuss.  
“…I was thinking of taking a bath anyways.” He says, feels stupid after but it seems to suck out the tension, a few crack smiles and others chuckle. When Daryl looks, Shane’s lips are quirked as though amused. And Daryl can’t help but notice that Shane isn’t bad to look at.  
He hopes he doesn’t regret that thought.  
…  
Maybe it’s fate, Shane can still see Rick’s look of; I told you so, when the shock of finding out Sophia was still alive leaves. Knows Rick is rubbing it in his face, but in any other circumstance Shane would have been right. However, that fades when he remembers the nervousness on the rednecks face, how his eyes shifted from their faces to the ground, no doubt feeling like an idiot as he had his hands raised to show he was weaponless and therefore not a threat.  
He wasn’t going to take that chance, keeping his gun aimed as Rick did most of the talking. However, he can’t lie when it came to the fact that his finger did loosen off the trigger when he mentioned a little girl. Then T-Dog runs off exclaiming that the guy had Sophia when they weren’t even sure of that. However, it turns out to be true and Shane was sure he saw a ghost, but no, the little girl is just as real as any of them.  
It seemed that the guy was going to leave, which was a surprise seeing as he wasn’t trying to get anything from them - or rather what little they had, Rick had a sheriff’s bag with five Glock 17’s, a SIG-Sauer P226, Colt Official Police, Smith & Wesson Model 10 Snub-nosed, Smith & Wesson Model 586, Bruni Olympic 6, and a Browning BDA. And that was just handguns, there had also been a Browning Automatic Rifle Safari, and a Remington 700 BDL Rifle. Then there were six shotguns and a whole mess of ammo that would have been helpful when the incident in the quarry happened, however, that‘s left in Atlanta. He expected the guy to want food, but they split that down the middle for Sophia, maybe weapons or ammo, which they had very little of. So little it was kind of pathetic.  
So the guy’s leaving, but Rick gets him by the shoulder and Shane can see the way the guy jumps, skittish and jittery.  
He almost can’t believe that Rick invited the guy to stay, but seeing him later, at dinner, Shane feels that he can see the appeal. After all, Daryl, he overhears his name, is attractive. Seeing as Lori doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore, it would be easier if he could get the new guys attention. Though, he supposes he should have been more subtle with his observations of the other, having been caught when he was looking at him, raking his eyes over him and taking in his appearance. Doesn’t really help seeing as Daryl wears a vest, letting his arms be on display, can see the muscle on them clear as day.  
Then Daryl’s a life saver with the meds for T-Dog, Shane can’t help the slight puff of pride when T-Dog mentions that he saved him and he can see the way Daryl’s shoulder tense a little, maybe he can feel him staring? So he removes his gaze, pays more attention to his dinner.   
When dinners over and the group is going off to get some shut eye, he takes first lookout on the RV, just because they’re on Hershel’s farm doesn’t mean they’re safe it just means they have more protection. Shane can easily see Daryl’s tent, it’s a bit of a distance away from the rest of them, can see when Daryl goes into his tent and then alls quiet. It’s T-Dog that ends up taking over a few hours later, doesn’t take no for an answer.  
So Shane goes to his tent, dreams of the new survivor instead of blood and screams of a man being eaten alive. He had to be alive, walkers don’t eat from things that are already dead. He likes to think that what he did was right, it was either Otis or Carl and a - selfish - part of himself stubbornly clanged to the part that it was Otis’ fault for shooting Carl in the first place.   
Daryl’s already awake by the time Shane himself awakens, the redneck is making arrows for his crossbow, attention only on the pieces of wood. Rick’s talking with Hershel, no doubt trying to convince the older man to allow them to remain, that they would do their part. It’s an idea but Shane still puts his money on Fort Benning. He doesn’t even acknowledge the thought that Fort Benning might be in just as much ruins as anywhere else. No, things must be well.  
Shane goes through the motions of the day in what might be a fog and then there’s mention of a walker in the well and of course they can’t have that, with it tainting the water supply. T-Dog ends up getting Daryl and Shane can see Sophia go into the house, no doubt wanting to check in on Carl’s condition. There’s that moment of panic in which they thought that Glenn would become zombie food but as it turns out Glenn was fucking with them, maybe. So they pull and pull, until that is, Daryl asks them to stop. So, they dig their shoes into the dirt and hold as Daryl goes over to the waterlogged sonofabitch and _grabs _the thing around the legs. Then he asks them to pull and they pull so hard that Daryl’s almost knocked into the well, however, black blood bursts from a wound on the things back, no doubt if they had kept pulling like they had half of the thing would have gone back into the well. It’s a good thing Daryl was so observant and T-Dog gives the killing blow, however, Maggie gets sick and throws up at some distance away. She waves away their concern, so they turn to Daryl with the intention of congratulating him on his observation. Daryl doesn’t really seem to notice, so it’s no wonder that he jerks violently when T-Dog claps a hand on his shoulder grin on his mouth. Daryl falls back into the well and some can’t help the screams that escape them some of them wordless, other’s calls of Daryl’s names. They hear a loud splash followed by sputtering and coughs. When looking in they see Daryl standing, soaked from head to toe. T-Dog asks Daryl if he’s okay and Daryl responds that he’s fine and apologizing - what for Shane didn’t know - T-Dog responds that he was blameless and that he should be the one apologizing before mentioning that they’re getting the rope down to him. It takes a moment to get the rope off the walker and soon it’s going down the well.__  
Shane’s the one that Daryl ends up seeing when the others pull up the rope and Shane gets the feeling that Daryl’s tempted to pull himself up instead of getting his help. So there’s a small pause before Daryl reaches up and takes Shane’s hand, allowing the other to get him out and water is just running off him in big puddles. Everyone’s quiet because they aren’t sure what to do or say and they aren’t very sure how Daryl would react. However, blinking water out of his eyes, Daryl looks down at himself and says hesitantly; “…I was thinking of taking a bath anyways.” At the very least that breaks the tension and everyone can find it in them to chuckle.  
While Shane’s got his lips quirked in amusement he can’t help noticing the glance Daryl gives him before the other looks away, a little redder around the cheeks.   
Interesting.


	5. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I'm horrible. I'm sorry for the lack of updates to this story, honestly I was sitting on it for a while wondering if I'd be able to continue it.  
> Honestly, I'm a bit stubborn and didn't want to just leave this unfinished and become a hypocrite if I ever wrote any other stories.  
> So now I have to think of _plot_ , which isn't so bad since I'm getting half ideas on how I might finish it, though it's from getting here to the end that is the tricky part.  
> So yeah, I guess we're all on this ride together.
> 
> By the way, thanks to all of you who left reviews and kudos, you guys are what made me get off my butt and continue writing. ^^

Daryl searches through his stuff for a change of clothes, uncomfortable with being soaked like a drowned rat especially in front of the rest of the camp. He doesn’t doubt the story will be spread but he’d at least not want to give them even more of a show than he already has.  
There’s another reason for getting changed despite the Georgia heat.  
He doesn’t like being a strain on resources and no doubt, for Hershel, he’s just looking like another mouth to feed, another inconvenience to dwindling supplies.  
He wishes Merle were still around, if only for the extra pair of hands and eyes – after all, Merle taught him everything he knew, even if Daryl lived on to surpass his expertise.  
Merle was proud of him and if that didn’t make Daryl puff out his chest and strut to know he had his brother’s approval…  
It leaves an ache in his chest to think about it now.

Merle might have left Daryl, left him alone with their drunken abusive father, but he came back.  
For a long time, Daryl was bitter and angry, bitter that Merle wasn’t around to help him against their father’s wrath and angry that he went back on his promise to him. Had taken the motorcycle and ran, done his own thing and left him behind to watch his own back.  
They were like two peas in a pod, him and Merle, they were kin and it was them against the world.  
Those words were bittersweet.  
After all, no one understood him like Merle had, could read him like Merle.

He remembers the day Merle came back, smirking at him like things were okay, like he hadn’t ditched him for whatever it was he did while they were apart. A traitorous part of Daryl wanted to throw himself at Merle and hug him, touch him and make sure he was there, that he was whole and not some wistful part of his imagination.  
A bigger part wanted to punch him, and he had, the smirk falling from Merle’s face and replaced by Daryl’s fist, the younger Dixon wrestling and punching his brother, eyes wet and jaw clenched.

They both end up with aches and pains, bruises purpling and flesh swelling, blood oozing from split lips or loose teeth.

When they tire out, Daryl crossed an arm over his eyes to hide whatever tears might make it through, whatever sign of weakness managed to squeeze out of him. The dirt cushions their backs, Merle strangely quiet beside him while Daryl’s trying not to let him know that he’s trembling, that he’s choking back the sob that wants to come up his throat.

Merle never apologizes and Daryl never expected him too.

“You got a mean right hook, little brother.” Merle says instead, Daryl hearing the way he works his jaw but refusing to look at him.  
“Fuck you.” Daryl replies, wiping away whatever tears managed to surface before Merle noticed them. Pushed himself into a seated position with a grunt, running a hand through his short hair.  
“Don’t be like that to ol’ Merle.” Merle sighs, grunts as he sits up as well, Daryl hopes he hurts and refuses to feel guilty for thinking it.  
“You left me.” He says, like a child, but Merle doesn’t scoff, doesn’t clip him over the head like their father would, doesn’t tell him he’s being a pussy like he should.  
“Yeah,” Merle says instead, “I did.”  
That makes Daryl look at his brother, take in the small amount of blood coming out of his nose – how hard Merle’s eyes are and the clench of his jaw.  
It’s guilt, a little bit, at least. Maybe regret if Daryl looks hard enough.  
“I missed ya.” Daryl says quietly, barely heard but Merle with his sharp ears claps a hand on his shoulder and brings him into a hard hug, lips against his forehead.  
“Missed ya too.” Merle admits against his head, lets Daryl hug him.  
That had been that and everything was forgiven.

Now, Merle was dead and nothing hurt more than that fact.

Once he’s dressed in a new, barely cleaner, change of clothes he stuffs his soaked clothes in a corner somewhere, searching his things for the only other pair of shoes he had.  
With his crossbow on his shoulder he finds Rick and Shane.  
“’m going hunting,” He tells them, surprising them. “I’ll be back later or tomorrow, depends.” He shrugs, chews at his thumbnail when he notices them staring.  
“You sure?” Rick asks, Shane simply observing.  
“Ya,” Daryl mumbles, “we’re here on another man’s property, diminishing his supplies, I just want to do my part, hopefully find us some venison to take some of the stress off his shoulders.”  
Rick and Shane look honestly surprised, as though they hadn’t really thought of that. The duo looking at the camp and perhaps for the first time realizing what kind of risk they were putting on Hershel’s shoulders.  
“That’s a good idea.” Rick admits, perhaps a little guiltily for being so blunt with Hershel about staying on his property. He hadn’t thought of just what kind of strain they would put on the older man’s farm.  
He’d probably have a talk with the group later about how they could do their part for Hershel and the others as they waited for Carl to heal, it made sense now why Hershel was adamant about them moving along as well.  
If he barely had enough to feed his own family, then he obviously wouldn’t have enough for the rest of them despite the generosity he had already displayed by sharing some of his food with them.  
“Be careful while you’re out there.” Rick says, Daryl nodding in reply.  
“’ll make sure of it.” Daryl replies verbally, walking by them and begins across the empty field towards the trees.  
“Daryl! Daryl!” He hears, pauses and looks as Sophia runs over on her small legs, breathless by the time she reaches him. She’s got her hands on her knees, huffing and puffing and asks; “are you leaving?” Even though she doesn’t have enough breath yet to speak she sounds worried.  
“You don’t have to worry,” Daryl assured, a little uncomfortably by the worry Sophia displayed. “I’m just going for a hunt.”  
Sophia’s face scrunches up; “Are you going to get squirrels?”  
Daryl doesn’t laugh but he chuckles a little, “More than likely.” He admits, “But I’m going to try to get us some venison too.”  
“What’s that?” Sophia asks with confusion.  
“Deer.” Daryl answers, even as Sophia’s eyes widen in apparent horror.  
“Like Bambi?” She asks sadly.  
Daryl tilts his head, crouching down so he can look her in the eye. “I know it ain’t fair but we gotta survive somehow and it ain’t fair for us to eat Mr. Greene’s food without givin’ anythin’ back.” He explains, “even if it ain’t something we wanna do, it’s better than starving.”  
Sophia sighs but nods. “Okay,” she murmurs, “you aren’t going to get baby’s right?”  
“Nah,” Daryl assures. “I don’t hunt little ‘Bambi’s’.”  
That gets a giggle and Sophia nods, beaming.  
“Good luck,” She says, “I know you’ll get us the best!”  
Daryl nods and stands once more, “I’ll try to be back later, but I might not be back until tomorrow.”  
“Be safe.” Sophia says understandingly, waving before skedaddling back to her mother's side.  
Daryl sighs, takes advantage of the hours of sun he has to bag whatever he can.  
It wouldn’t hurt to look for any trails along the way.  
…  
Sophia sits in the chair besides Carl’s bed, brushing off some invisible lint from her pants.  
“How are you feeling?” She asks quietly, looking at him lying there.  
Carl sighs, winces a little, “Tired… bored.” He admits. “I’m glad you’re okay.”  
“That’s thanks to Daryl.” She smiles, watches Carl look away. “He’s really quiet but nice, he left to hunt.”  
That gets his attention as he looks back, looking confused.  
“Why?” He asks, voice dry and Sophia reaches over for the cup of water Hershel left for Carl, giving it to him. Carl sips at it thankfully, but looks at Sophia to let her know she still has his attention.  
“We’re guests here and I overheard your dad telling the others that Hershel barely has enough food for his family, which means he wouldn’t have nearly enough for the rest of us.” Sophia tells him, taking his cup when Carl’s done. “I think Daryl doesn’t likes just eating Hershel’s food without giving back somehow.”  
“I guess that makes sense.” Carl replies while Sophia rolls her eyes.  
“It makes a lot of sense.” She replied, “now we just have to wait. He said he might not be back until tomorrow.”  
Rather than reply, Carl yawned and Sophia took that as her cue to let him sleep.  
“Get some more rest, I’ll see you later or tomorrow.” She said, getting a nod as Carl settled.  
Carol smiles when she returns and Sophia hugs her.  
“Carl got tired so I’m letting him sleep.” She explains as Carol kisses her forehead.  
“Okay, that’s fine.” Carol replied softly, her hands on her shoulders, Sophia can feel her palms shaking a little, like her mother still couldn’t believe she was here, safe and within arm’s reach.  
Sophia understands, remembering the days where she tried to hold off her own hunger, scared of every sound in the forest and wondering where her group was and if they would be reunited.  
Then Daryl appeared like a godsend, feeding her and returning her to her group.  
She isn’t as naive as they probably thought she was, she knew she was lucky not to have been bitten, or worse, found by an unfamiliar group with darker intentions than a people-shy hunter.  
…  
It starts out as a standard hunting trip for Daryl, he gets a few squirrels, sets a few traps and even feels some satisfaction when he manages to shoot down a deer.

Then he ends up stepping the wrong way and falls down head over heels from a steep hillside into the creek below. He isn’t sure how long he ends up in there, seeing the glint of his own arrow poking out his side. All he knows is that his vision is black around the edges and his limbs feel heavy.

“Well, look’t what the cat dragged in, you look like shit, little brother.” Merle stands over him, frowning down at his soaked through form.

Daryl inhales, feels sharp pain and clenches his eyes closed.

"I-it's the end Merle…gonna…gonna die here." Daryl says, voice soft, he can barely make out the deep frown on his brothers face, hear him kneel besides him and feel him grab his jaw with his beefy hand.

"I didn't die back in the Atlanta just for you to give up here, little brother." Merle let's go, stands and gives his leg a light kick. "Now c'mon Darylina, get yer ass up."

“C’n’t.” Daryl slurs, it’s the blood loss, the sharp ice hot pain that’s drilling through his side where his own arrow had impaled him.

“The hell you can’t!” Merle’s kick comes harder, jostles him and makes him hiss with it since it only sends more pain from the arrow still in his side. “Nothing can kill a Dixon except for a Dixon and you’re the only Dixon left, little brother!”

It almost hurts more than the pain in his side to acknowledge that he’s the last Dixon left, he only had one uncle from his father’s side, and he had died from a heart attack when Daryl was sixteen. It makes him feel more empty, he’s the only Dixon left, a lone wolf without his brother by his side.

“Merle...Merle, ‘m sorry ye died for me.” Daryl’s eyes feel wet, his chest hurting and heavy with his regrets. “‘M sorry for leaving you behind in Atlanta.”

“If’n you want to make it up to me, Darylina, you best wake up and _live_.”

He cracks open his eyes but instead of seeing his brother like he expects he sees a zombie trying to gnaw on his boots, he curses, kicks it in the head as he scrambles to his feet - sudden adrenaline making it so the pain is at the back of his mind, throbbing like an echo.

He ends up crushing the lame brain under his boot, hearing shifting from beyond his sight, shuffling and growls.

“Get the arrow out of your side, it’ll be easier to move if you dress it that way.” Merle drawls, cleaning out his ear with his pinky nail before crossing his arms.

Daryl ignores him, but that’s mostly from indecision and hesitation. Merle rolls his eyes and mutters something that mysteriously sounds like; “Dumbass.”

Daryl instead searches the creek for his bow, coming up fruitfully but unable to find any other arrows and he bites back the urge to curse like he wants to.

Out from the tall grass stumbles another zombie and Daryl realizes that the only weapon he has is the arrow in his side.

“Son of a bitch.”

In the end, Daryl does end up ripping out the arrow with his bare hands and it nearly makes him drop to his knees, instead he uses it to stab the zombie’s face in, he’s shaking on his feet as he shoulders his crossbow and bandages his wound with his shirt.  
And maybe Merle was right...  
For once.

Climbing back out of the creek to where he had his kills? God, there’s nothing as sweet as pain when he finally flops down on dry flat land, the pain has turned to agony in his side and nearly makes him black out from it but he pushes through that and shakily gets to his feet as he returns to the buck that had luckily been left behind. Unfortunately he had lost his line of squirrels in the fall and to be truthful he doubts they would still have been edible.

He barely makes it back to the farm dragging the corpse of a deer behind him, when T-Dog, Rick and Shane arrive - possibly mistaking him for a walker - Daryl barely replies before he’s falling forward, there’s a few curses spat out as multiple hands grab him before he can collapse. 

“Holy shit Daryl! What happened to you?”

“Fell on my own arrow.” Daryl feels himself mumble rather than hear it. His whole left side feels warm, he isn’t bleeding anymore - at least he doesn’t think he’s bleeding anymore but with his rotten luck he probably is.

There’s a hand on his hip, another gripping his arm and holding it over a strong set of shoulders, from blurred eyesight he thinks he sees Shane, Shane who helps bear most of Daryl’s weight. Though he doubts he’s any help since his legs feel like jello.

“C’n’t let Sophia see.” He slurs and whispers both, he isn’t sure if he’s heard but Shane looks at Rick and nods him ahead of the group and Rick willingly goes, they get into the house without incident and Daryl thanks small mercies when he doesn’t hear young voices shriek. Hopefully Rick managed to ensure Sophia didn’t see how he looks, probably like death warmed over.  
…  
Daryl barely reacts when Hershel cleans out and stitches up his side, but Shane can realize why when he sees all the scars that make his skin glint silver - long healed over scars but scars nonetheless. Mostly belt marks from a whipping that undoubtedly drew blood, knife marks, burns - both from cigarettes and something that had been scolding hot. Daryl’s body is a testament of what kind of abuse he suffered.  
It makes Shane’s heart clench something fierce, he remembers what little cases they had dealing with domestic and child abuse but none of them had been this severe. Something like respect wells up inside him, respect for this man and his ability to survive the worst of humankind at the hands of his own kin.  
Especially a man as hurt as Daryl and still managing to bring home a kill that’ll be able to feed them for a few days.  
Daryl doesn’t remain awake, or at least he’s more unconscious than he had been moments ago, unaware of what’s happening around him and that makes him seem vulnerable.  
So Shane stays at his bedside, even when Lori looks at him with puzzlement, unsure why he was staying at Daryl’s side but honestly a part of Shane isn’t so sure either while another part knows _exactly_ why he wants to stay in Daryl’s vicinity.

Honestly though, it’s a little embarrassing to admit that he’s developing a crush on the people-shy hunter.


	6. The Choice to Live (Also a *Notice*)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how long it had taken me to update, I have more news at the end of the chapter.

When Daryl wakes up, Sophia’s standing there with her little lips pursed and her doll in her arms, little knuckles white.

“You said you’d be okay.” She said accusingly, but also a mixture of relieved and worried.

Daryl blinks, feeling a blanket tucked around his shoulders and covering him up from any possible wandering eyes.

Small mercies.

“Well…” Daryl starts. “I’m not dead.”

Sophia doesn’t look impressed, honestly Daryl’s almost impressed by how unimpressed she looks.

“You almost were.” She says quietly, fingers curling around the yarn of her dolls hair, “Andrea almost shot at you, cause you looked like a walker, but Dale stopped her cause he noticed you dragging a deer.”

Daryl doesn’t know what to say, so he takes Sophia’s scoldings.

“I almost gave up.” He admits quietly as Sophia sits on the edge of the bed, looking down at him with the patience of someone beyond her age.

Her maturity almost stuns him silent but Sophia is patient and kind, she turns her gaze to her doll and allows Daryl to continue if he chooses to.

“I slipped and fells down a steep hillside into a creek, I had my own arrow impaled in my side. Honestly, I almost lost consciousness.” His chuckle is self deprecating but Sophia remains silent and listens. Somehow it gives Daryl the confidence to continue. “I was just going to surrender, just slip away.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sophia asks quietly after a moment, feeling like this was important, but she doesn’t look at Daryl expectantly, she keeps her eyes on her doll.

“I was probably seeing things,” Daryl starts, almost rambling. He takes a breath, tucks the blanket around himself higher. “I saw my brother, he was telling me to get up.” Daryl’s chuckle sounds wetter, words heavy with emotion.

Sophia reaches out, places her hand where she believes Daryl’s arms is, careful to keep it light.

“Most would probably think he’s an asshole but he taught me everything I know, he practically raised me.” 

“He sounds like a good older brother.”

“Yeah, he was.” a pause, “I wouldn’t have traded him for anything.”

“He probably loved you.”

“I like to think that too.”

Sophia sits with him for a while longer before tentatively saying; “My dad wasn’t a good man.”

That gets Daryl’s attention, though he simply keeps his eyes on the ceiling rather than stare at Sophia.

“He used to beat my mom for the smallest things and she would do her best to protect me from his anger.” She stares at the doll’s face, a gift from Eliza Morales before her and her family had split from the group.

“Did your mom leave him?” Daryl asks quietly but already knows the answer, his own mother had accepted the abuse numbly towards the end of her life.

She had turned a blind eye to many things, honestly.

“No,” Sophia admits, “he was a horrible man but my mom loved him. A few days before you found me, our camp was invaded by walkers and he was one of the casualties.”

_Good_ , a vindictive part of Daryl thought in fierce approval, he might have hated walkers as much as anyone else (they _stole_ his brother from him after all), but people could easily be as (if not more) dangerous than a walker ever could be. 

He hated abusers much more than any walker, especially the sick twisted ones.

“Are you sad about it?” Daryl asks nonetheless, a parent is a parent after all and in Daryl’s own youth he wanted his old man’s approval, until, of course, he wised up and hated the old son of a bitch.

“No.” It’s whispered, as though it’s supposed to be a dirty secret, and Daryl looks at Sophia, the little blond girl has her head bent low, hunched and clutching her doll like it were a lifeline.

“I hated my dad too.” Daryl says, as though it's supposed to comfort Sophia. She looks at him, nonetheless, curious despite herself.

“My dad was old fashioned, believed a woman’s place was under his heel, keeping house and raising sons. My mom was supposed to follow his word like it was law and my brother and I were supposed to stay silent, seen but not heard. We were supposed to be strong, to act manly.” He smiles bitterly up at the ceiling. “Until I was seven I hid behind my mom’s skirt or my brother’s back. They protected me from the worst of my father’s temper, then my brother decided it was time for me to learn how to stand on my own two feet.”

He sighs. “Everything I am now, it’s all cause of Merle.”

The silence that follows isn’t so much awkward as it is simply contemplative.

“You’ve done more for me than my own father had when he was alive.” Sophia admits, remaining silent for a moment, speculative.  
She continues, “does that make you my brother?”

“I could be…” Daryl starts hesitantly, “if you’d like me to be.”

For the first time, Sophia turns to beam at Daryl.

“I’d like that.” She says and Daryl gives a small smile in return, even if it felt awkward on his face.

He’d lost a brother from circumstances out of his control, from the fact that Merle stayed behind as a distraction to allow Daryl the time to escape. Merle had died for Daryl and he will live the rest of his life with that knowledge.

Sometimes he wished Merle could have lived for him but the situation had been dire and Merle had made the choice for the both of them.

In the dead of night, when Daryl was alone, he hated Merle, hated him even as he clung to his brother’s shirt. It’s not a nice feeling or a kind one, it hurts and aches inside his chest because his brother, his protector, his _father_ was gone, leaving him to face the whole world, alone.

What was left of it anyways.

Now, against all the odds, he has become the tentative older brother to the little girl he assisted in reuniting to her mother and group.

Daryl looks again to Sophia, whom smiles at him warmly with her doll within her arms.

It is in that moment that Daryl decides he will do his best to ensure Sophia survives and thrives within the world they now inhabit.

However, he will do what Merle couldn’t manage, he will live to see the woman Sophia will become.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, undoubtedly, you’ve wondered where I’ve been. Honestly, I experience writer’s block frequently which isn’t fair to my readers but it’s difficult nonetheless to get out chapters. Then, my muse ended up abandoning me while I was trying to figure out which direction to go in, when it came to this story. Add onto the fact I held back from watching season six because I usually watch it with my mother, we had seen about three episodes before life had gotten rather busy and we had to hold off. Which hadn’t been bad at first because at the time we were caught up.  
> But then, I found out Glenn and Abraham had been killed in the most gruesome way. It, uh, actually killed my inspiration for the story for the past seven months which I’m sorry about.  
> Which brings me to what I actually want to say, this isn’t actually a notice saying that this story is abandoned but it is a notice saying that I’ve decided to rewrite this story.  
> It’ll take time, sorry, but it’ll be done. Honestly, the story structure wasn’t that great and the plot was… vague. OTL  
> I’ll try to do better but thank all of you for your support and kindness. ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ


End file.
